In Secrecy
by princesskaigen
Summary: Hermione's life is consumed with fear and doubt, and she's losing sleep. Death Eaters and Voldemort abound, and life in the wizarding world is nothing like it used to be. That is until a certain Weasley comes into her life, uncovering her deepest desires and making her feel alive again. Their journey begins here! Starts 6th year of Hogwarts. Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione tried desperately not to stare, but it was next to impossible. She knew she shouldn't be spying on him in his back room, but she was transfixed on the magic in front of her. He was performing a clarifunkulous charm, which was conjuring a miniature solar system in a rather large display case, complete with clusters of stars, purple planets, and even a comet that soared around and around the box.

George Weasley stepped back to examine his work, his arms crossed across his chest. Hermione, crouched down behind several dusty boxes, and turned slowly around trying not to make any noise. Her heart rate was quickened and she couldn't understand why. She was quite annoyed with herself for ogling at the likes of George, someone whom she was always quick to chastise rather than be transfixed upon. _Still_…she thought to herself, _it was a fairly beautiful piece of magic… _

Standing up, Hermione turned once more to get one last look at the tiny universe only to become face to face, or rather, face to chest with George himself, who was leaning against the pile of boxes with his arms still crossed, smirking at her.

"Enjoying the show?" he asked comically.

"Oh…erm…" Hermione started, utterly embarrassed at being caught. She couldn't bring herself to say anything. It felt as though her chest was constricting from being confronted so abruptly and so…closely. She felt unable to keep her eyes focused on his for more than half a second, as she was frantically looking around the entire room at anything else.

George quickly grabbed her wrist, pulled her into the room, and shut the door quickly behind them with a _snap. _Her heart raced once more.

"This," he said majestically throwing his arms towards the large box, "is our newest development, _Pocket Full of Cosmos. _Eventually, you will be able to keep this beauty in a small, compact box that could fit inside your pocket, and then release it onto your own bedroom or dormitory ceiling. Perfect for outdoor fun without the outdoors! Also, an amazing try at stirring up romance," he finished turning to stare at her. "You like?"

Again, Hermione felt her chest tighten, but managed to quietly say, "Beautiful."

George smirked at her again, a hint of amusement across his freckled face.

"I mean to say," started Hermione, clearing her throat and speaking a little louder, "that it is astonishing. I've never seen anything like this before…I am completely in awe of you."

Hermione froze at this, unable to believe that she used those words. _What? I'm in awe of what?_

At this George raised an eyebrow and his sarcastic smirk morphed into more of a genuine smile.

"Is that so, Granger?" he asked playfully. "Well, you ought to stop your star stuck stare before someone catches you, otherwise they may think you're into more than just my breath-taking magical abilities."

Hermione stared blankly, hoping with all her might that her cheeks weren't betraying her embarrassment. She exhaled slowly.

"Don't go and get ahead of yourself there," she said indignantly.

She turned on her heels and began to stride towards the door in a huff, wanting nothing more than to leave and forget that this had happened. Her mind felt clouded and her chest entirely too tight. As if she was interested in more than just his magical capacities!

_Well…you did say that you were in awe of him…_she reminded herself.

Before she could think on this a second longer, George was at the door with one outstretched hand on the wall, blocking her way.

Without looking at him, Hermione said loudly, "Please, I really have somewhere that I need to be now." Which wasn't true, she had already purchased all of her sixth year school supplies and merely wandered into Fred and George's joke shop on her way out of Diagon Alley out of sheer curiosity. She did not expect to stumble across George and become at a loss for words at his stunning abilities, or his red hair that was pushed up in different directions. _What?_

He studied her face for a moment, as though searching. Finally he said softly, leaning closer to her, "Of course, if you want this to stay between you and I…I don't think that anyone else has to know." He winked.

_Did he just wink at me? _Hermione was a bit stunned, and once again at a loss for words. It was no mistake that her heart was beating frantically in her chest, her head spinning slightly as though she had just stood up too quickly.

George reached out and quickly stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. "You know where to find me, love," he smirked again, holding the door open for her.

Hermione stared at the open door for a moment, wanting desperately to stay for reasons she wasn't quite sure of, and wanting to flee for fear of what was happening. _What is happening? _She thought._ Am I going mad?_

The latter won out, and she took a deep breath. She quickly strode past George not daring to look at him in the face again, and out the door she went with her fingers brushing her lower lip.


	2. Chapter 2

It was five o'clock in the morning and Hermione stood in the kitchen of the Burrow, unable to sleep. She kept mulling over her parent's extreme reluctance over her continuing her education at Hogwarts, and wondered if perhaps they were right in their assumptions that her school really wasn't so safe after all. Still, she tried to continue holding faith in Dumbledore and the rest of the school's staff, as she really did not fancy having to face down more death eaters as she did just a few months ago…

She put her head in her hands and leaned over the sink, feeling sick to her stomach. Fear was ever present in the back of her mind and the pit of her stomach, gripping her at the worst of times. She could feel every ounce of bravery within her crumbling into nothing as her nightmares about the Department of Mysteries and the Death Eaters continued to plague her mind. _I can handle this, _she said to herself. _Relax. _

"Having a bit of trouble this morning, are we?" spoke George Weasley leaning against the adjacent counter.

Hermione's heart seemed to leap right into her throat as she jumped almost a foot in the air and into the sink.

"Hell!" cried Hermione, her voice several octaves too high. "You scared me half to death!"

George stifled a laugh and strode over to her, his hands up in apology.

"My apologies Granger," he said smiling. "I only thought you could use a bit of company at this early hour. Why are you awake, anyhow?"

Hermione sighed and her heart rate slowed a bit as she slid out of the sink and back onto the floor. The air in the kitchen felt eerily still and calm all of the sudden, less open and threatening with someone else accompanying her.

"I can't sleep," Hermione said wearily. "What are you doing home? I thought you were living at your shop."

"Yes well, it's nice to come home every now and again. Home-cooked food and all that," he added. "Plus, mum's been dying to see us as of late. She's constantly in a state of worry over us all. It's driving me mad, honestly." George was pointing his wand at the ceiling, drawing a sort of shape that Hermione could not discern.

"Well, of course she's worried!" she cried looking at George. "Given all that is happening I suspect she's afraid you're going to be murdered any second!"

George let out a small grin while still focusing on the object he was drawing on the ceiling. "Don't you worry your pretty little head now Hermione."

Tiny flower petals fell down over her face as George lowered a bouquet of dark red Oriental Lilies onto Hermione's lap. She stared at the flowers for several moments, hesitant to look up into George's eyes. Her chest felt tight again, as it did the day she last encountered George Weasley at his shop in Diagon Alley.

_ Flowers?_ She wondered. _How…benevolent._

"I quite like Oriental Lilies," George said casually, stepping closer to Hermione and looking down at the bouquet. "They're wonderfully aromatic, and quite durable as far as florae go. I suppose you could say that they are incapable of being trodden on by others, and quite beautiful to behold as well."

Hermione looked up with what felt like cotton in her throat. She was starting to smile, the tension in her body lifting as though evaporating into the air.

"Uhm…I can't…I don't…" she was stumbling on her words, never having experienced a sort of gesture like this in her life.

George took the flowers from her hands and conjured up an ornately carved, glass vase to place them in. They seemed to be glowing, and the sweet aroma was instantaneous, encasing the room with its intoxicating scent.

"I love them," Hermione whispered, gazing at the flowers and feeling a sort of warmth flow through her. "Why-?"

She started to ask, but just then George gripped her wrist and turned her around to kiss her. One of his hands wound around her waist pulling her closer, and the other was placed gently on the back of her neck. _Oh, _though Hermione, _This._

She kissed him back with fervor, her sorrows and tension melting away into nothing. His lips were soft, yet eager as his tongue brushed hers and his hold on her waist tightened, pressing her firmly against his body.

The kiss seemed to last forever, with George's fingers brushing playfully on the back of her neck. Hermione couldn't help but feel completely at peace with him holding her, with the scent of lilies encasing them and making her feel safe.

There was a low creaking noise that sounded from the upstairs, indicating that they would soon be joined by a third person.

They quickly broke apart, Hermione slightly breathless and exhilarated. _Did this just happen?_ She suddenly became aware that she was in her pajamas-a t-shirt from her parent's dental office that read "_Brush, Floss, and Smile!" _and a pair of bright yellow pajama bottoms with unicorns on them that she had had since she was 9 years old.

To make matters worse, she could feel that the back of her pants was damp from where she leapt into the sink in her fit of hysteria.

"I'm wet," she whispered, slightly downtrodden.

George raised his eyebrows and looked down at her with an entertained expression.

From the sink," she added haughtily, scowling at George.

"Either way," he remarked, grinning at her.

"Bloody hell," cried Ron from across the kitchen. "Six in the morning and I can't get a wink of sleep because Bill and Charlie are both snoring louder than a dragon."

He slumped down at the kitchen table grumpily. "What are you two doing up, anyhow?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

"Got things to do today, Ronnie," said George. "You know, galleons to make, business to run. Not that it concerns you, anyhow." George reached across Hermione to grab a piece of toast on a platter, brushing his arm against her while doing so. It was as though they had just been discussing the weather over morning tea.

"Flowers?" asked Ron noticing the lilies in the vase.

"Ah," said George. "For a lovely looking muggle girl outside of the Leaky Cauldron. Might try and swoon her a bit, you know?"

"Right," said Ron, also reaching past Hermione to grab the entire plate of toast and taking it over to the table.

"Good day, children," announced George as he apparated out of the room with a loud _crack._

"Prat," mumbled Ron, now stuffing his face with toast and picking up this morning's issue of _The Daily Prophet._

Hermione walked outside and leaned against the side of the house, her eyes closed. Thoughts of blood-red lilies filled her mind, replacing her fears of death and turmoil. Her head was still swimming with the events that took place just moments ago, and she couldn't help but grin.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days were particularly long and restless as rain continued to fall around the Burrow. A sense of foreboding and despair seemed to have gripped the countryside, and even the muggles were becoming aware that something was amiss.

Of course, they weren't aware that the dark and chilly mist was due to the swarms of dementors that were no longer under Ministry control, or that the many sudden and unexplained deaths were the work of Lord Voldemort and his followers. Still, Voldemort's reign could be felt in every city, in every town, and in every neighborhood, wizard or not.

Hermione sat in an armchair by the fire, reading "A History of Magic" to clear her head. Harry had just informed her that he would be receiving private lessons from Dumbledore himself during the upcoming school year, and she was anxious to what they might entail.

Would he be teaching Harry advanced magic? Did Dumbledore know a way to defeat Lord Voldemort? Hermione could not help but be jealous-she wished desperately that she could be more prepared for what was out there. After all, she spent the majority of her time pouring over spell books and studying until she passed out, and it was all starting to make her sick.

She wished that she were stronger, braver, and more skilled at defensive magic like Harry was. Perhaps then she would not feel so panicked and afraid day and night.

Hermione closed her book and leaned back against the plush armchair. Years of perfect scores, and then passing all of her O.W.L's, and still she felt incompetent and naïve. What good did memorizing books really do for her in the long run? Her parents, though muggles, were bursting with pride, and her teachers were full of nothing but admiration, but Hermione felt as though she were falling apart at the seams. Her want for something greater and meaningful consumed her.

"Hermione, dear?" called Molly Weasley from the kitchen. "Treacle Tart?"

"Oh, no thank you Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione replied. "I think I'm just going to call it a night, you know, to make sure all of my things are packed."

The Hogwarts Express would be leaving at eleven in the morning, and she knew the utter chaos the house would be filled with as Mrs. Weasley barked orders at anyone she came across, screaming that they were indeed going to be late, and as everyone bustled about grabbing last minute items such as a quill or a scarf.

As she walked past the kitchen, she heard a distinct voice talking loudly about his joke shop, and a new premises outside of Diagon Alley.

"Well, we're not quite sure as of yet mate," said George, "haven't exactly worked out all the kinks. But, it's definitely going to benefit Hogwarts' students more directly."

"You mean like Hogsmeade?" asked Harry.

"Perhaps," said George, "but I can't say much more about it just yet."

Hermione's insides felt as though they were constricting around her ribcage. It had been three days since she has seen George-three days since he had kissed her in that very same room, and she hadn't heard a word from him since. She was trying desperately not to dwell on that early morning encounter…or whatever it was.

_Nothing, _Hermione told herself. _A kiss perhaps, but nothing more. _

But the more that she tried to pretend that it meant nothing to her, the more distressed she became.

_Just need to shake it off, _she thought. _It never happened. _

And so, mustering up what courage she had, she decided to enter the kitchen with Harry and the rest of the Weasley's.

"Ah, Hermione," said Mrs. Weasley, "changed your mind after all?"

Hermione smiled and nodded, and sat in the only empty chair at the table-the one across from George. She made a point not to look in his direction.

Mrs. Weasley placed a plate of Treacle Tart in front of her and turned on Bill, who was starting to nuzzle his nose into Fluer's neck, causing Ginny to mimic someone vomiting.

"You know, Hermione," began Fleur, breaking away from Bill, " zat 'air you 'ave eez quite awful. I 'ave somefing from back 'ome zat will fix zat right up." She smiled pleasantly at Hermione.

"Oh, erm…thanks." Said Hermione.

"Her hair is not awful!" snapped Mrs. Weasley quickly; clearly annoyed the Fleur was even eating with them.

Ginny flashed an angry look in Fluer's direction but said nothing, probably because it would have sent Mrs. Weasley into a fit of hysteria.

From under the table, Hermione felt a kick on her shin from directly in front of her. She immediately looked up, her heart racing, into George Weasley's face, only to see him mouth the word "beautiful" at her, followed by a quick wink.

Hermione was sure that her cheeks were ablaze as she quickly looked down at the plate and shoved a spoonful of tart into her mouth. She could feel George's eyes on her but refused to look up again for fear she might faint on the spot.

Exactly what was he playing at? He was quick to dismiss her the other morning, leaving her breathless but slightly, well…

_Hurt, _she thought.

"Hermione," piped up Ginny, "would you like to help me pack? I'm loads behind and don't fancy having to get up at the crack of dawn." Her face showed that she was just as eager to leave as Hermione was.

"Of course!" exclaimed Hermione, instantly jumping out of her seat at the offer.

_Anything to get out of this kitchen._

She swiftly followed Ginny upstairs, her mind still reeling.

"Honestly!" cried Ginny harshly as soon as they were out of earshot. "Can you _believe _that just happened?

Hermione froze on the spot. _No, there's no way she saw._

"I mean," continued Ginny, "how dare she have a go at your appearance when her own hair is as flat and lanky as a pancake! Hell, I'd love to have a go at her. So would Mum of course, she just won't admit because of Bill."

Hermione said nothing but managed to smile weakly, her heart still beating wildly from fear.

_Good gracious, _she thought. _Keep it together. _

She herself hadn't a clue what was going on between her and George-she couldn't imagine having someone else suspicious.

"Hey, are you okay?" asked Ginny, rolling a pair of socks into a ball. "Don't you let her get to you Hermione, she's positively vile."

"What? Oh, erm, no, no. I don't care what she says of course. I guess I'm just tired." Hermione replied

Ginny studied her for a moment and then nodded. "Well, listen," said Ginny, "I can tell that you've been feeling a bit-well, anxious lately after all that's happened. I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you'd like. I know that boys have the emotional range of a chocolate frog and don't always understand."

She smiled genuinely, displaying very George-like features. Hermione couldn't help but notice.

Swallowing, she smiled back, despite the sudden turns in the pit of her stomach. "Of course, Ginny. Thanks."

Ginny nodded again, still smiling. "Time to turn in, do ya think?"

"Oh yes." Said Hermione eagerly.

She lie down on the bottom bunk of Ginny's bed and shut her eyes tight. Within minutes she heard the soft sound of Ginny's snores, which began to lull her to sleep.

She was running through the Gryffindor common room with Death Eaters on her tail, sending killing curses after her that narrowly missed by inches. She continued to run until she was in the dungeons, which seemed to be miles longer than she remembered. Rapidly, there were more of them coming at her from all sides, and she was completely surrounded. She was sweating, her heart pounding and her hands shaking. Seeing that there was nowhere else she could run, she began to scream. Louder and louder she shrieked until the surrounding Death Eaters around her fell to their knees and begged her to stop. Her screams were deafeningly loud-the floor seemed to shake.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder that brought her howls to a stop. She turned around to find George dressed all in black, dashing from head to toe. He handed her a bouquet of deep red lilies, and cupped her face in his hands.

"You're braver then you believe, sweet girl."


	4. Chapter 4

George lay in bed in his flat above _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, _toying with his _Pocket Full of Cosmos _by opening it onto the ceiling and outlining constellations with his wand. He was quite impressed with himself, to say the least. He could hear his Mum scolding him, barking that he was going to be living on the streets without a sickle to stand on, and he smiled to himself. Oh, how she was eating her words.

"Wipe that smugness of your face, Georgie." Said Fred, entering his bedroom wearing a deep emerald, velvet suit with a gold tie and matching bowler hat. "I'm becoming convinced that all this success has gone to your head and turned you into a prat."

"Aw, come on," said George sitting up, "this is brilliant! Just keep thinking about the enormous amount of galleons that will be rolling in-not to mention the overwhelming demand for our marvelous handiwork. The women will lose their heads!"

Fred chuckled as he bewitched a pile of purple inventory boxes to shrink to the size of marbles, and placed them in his pocket.

"Yeah, sure they will. And exactly how many of these women have you shown this to yet, hmm?" Fred gestured to the solar system above him.

"Oh, not a soul," said George, smirking, "I'm waiting to unveil it when our new premises opens, you know-create more grandeur. Speaking of which, where are you going dressed like that? You ought to be the Irish's team mascot."

"Real witty." Said Fred. "I'm actually headed to _Zonko's_ to initiate our proposal." He patted his pocket, which contained the miniature boxes. "Thought I'd try to make a good impression. Old Zonko is about a hundred and twenty, give or take; he'll be impressed with my get up.

At that, Fred placed his bowler hat on his head and stowed his wand in his pocket.

"See ya, mate," he said, and strolled out of the room.

George lay back down on his bed, with a strange, stirring feeling in his stomach. True, he had planned on débuting his new product at the opening of he and Fred's new Hogsmeade location, but there was someone who had already seen it without his consent-someone who he now wished was laying next to him, watching it with him.

Hermione Granger had spotted him testing it out in his display case in the very shop he sat in, her face aglow with wonder and curiosity. He didn't think he would ever be able to forget the way she looked in that moment-so completely entranced with his attempt at creating something astounding. Her eyes were wide and brown, and her lips were slightly parted. George's stomach gave another turn and he rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow and letting out a loud groan.

What _was_ it with her, exactly? He had attempted to charm her, of course. It was something he frequently did with women for the fun of it, as the attention held simply too much enjoyment to pass up. But it was different being alone with her, and hearing her speak to him as though she were nervous, and look at him as though she dreaded to look away. It thrilled him to the point that he spent almost all of his waking hours with her in the back of his mind, her crooked smile reeling him in deeper and deeper until he felt mad.

And then of course there was the other morning at the Burrow, where they shared a fervent embrace that made his heart want to burst out of his chest.

_ Well, I did go a bit rogue with that one, _thought George.

He saw her leaned over the kitchen counter, and he could see the contours of her figure bent with distress and angst. It was maddening to see a vibrant girl so completely crippled at five in the morning, and he wanted nothing more than to fill her out with contentment and passion. But when he gave her those flowers and saw her face change from suffering to elation he seemed to have lost control of his basic reasoning abilities, and suddenly he was wrapped around her. She kissed him back with such intensity that George was taken by surprise.

He hated to leave her so abruptly, he really did. But there were so many fears encircling him that he couldn't bear to stand there and attempt to face them with her. He just couldn't understand why she stopped him in his tracks all of the sudden. Each morning he woke up and thought of her, a girl he hardly knew other than her wide eyes and parted lips.

_Infuriating, _he thought. _If I could just forget about her, I could breathe again. _

But of course that didn't work either. She sat right across from him at dinner, with those same anxious lines etched across her face, and his body seemed to go numb. Never before had he wished that someone would look at him as much as he did then.

He just wanted to fix her. He wanted to feel her face on his fingertips again, and experience her lips as he did before. To his dismay, however, she seemed, as though near him was the last place that she wanted to be-and it hurt him.

George quickly sat up and began to stare at nothing in particular, his mind suddenly spinning.

_ Hurt, _he thought.

He felt hot and cold, his thoughts running together at top speed, none of them getting anywhere fast. All he knew was that he could either sit here replaying her voice, eyes, and actions in his head, ensuring his quick descent into madness, or he could fix the problem, and ensure that it was put to rest.

He stood up and grabbed his black cloak off of the bedside table, and with a loud _crack, _George disapparated out of his bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Suddenly, George appeared on the front lawn outside of the Burrow, his chest tight with anticipation.

_Just another girl, just another face, _he repeated, _another girl, another face…_

Everything around him was black, save for a small candle that was flickering in an upstairs window. He recognizedit to be Ginny's room. He knew that Hermione was staying with her, and hoped with all his might that it was her who was awake.

He strode up to the Burrow and slipped in through the front door without making a sound.

"_Lumos." _ George muttered as the tip of his wand ignited with light. Having grown up in this house, he knew where every loose floorboard and squeaky step was placed, so he was navigating with precision, lest he awoke someone.

As he reached the top of the steps, he saw Ginny's room at the very end of the hall with candle light leaking out from the crevices. Drawing in a deep breath, he walked the length of the hall until he was inches from the door. Just as he reached out for the doorknob, the door was thrown open swiftly by Hermione, her wand pointed straight at his chest.

Seeing that it was he, George, she exhaled slightly and bent over, placing her hands on her knees. She was breathing heavily, somehow out of breath.

"_H-hey_?" whispered George, gesturing out to place a hand on her shoulder.

Hermione stood up quickly and punched him in the shoulder, causing George to gasp and stumble back slightly.

_ "What the bloody hell was that for?" _he whispered loudly clutching his shoulder.

"_You scared the living hell out of me you twit!" _she replied, rubbing her knuckles and leaning against the doorframe. "_God, I can't breathe_." Hermione leaned her head back against the doorframe and closed her eyes.

George looked at her neck. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, and she was wearing a low U-shaped shirt, leaving her neck more exposed than he had ever seen it. He swallowed.

Hermione tilted her head in his direction and opened her eyes slowly. "_Well?" _She whispered demandingly, "_What do you want?"_

"_Oh, right," _said George, taking his gaze up to her face, "_come with me."_

_ "What?"_

_ "Come with me," _George repeated simply.

"_What?" _Hermione said again sharply, looking around her as if someone was playing some sort of joke. "_Wh-I can't just-I can't just leave. I leave for Hogwarts in the morning, I need to sleep, I need to-"_

_ "Come with me," _George said again, starting to smile. She was so flustered and stuck up-it was too amusing not to.

"_Oh, go with you? And where exactly will we be going?" _Her voice was starting to rise a little, and he heard Ginny give a loud snore and roll over.

"_Shhh,"_he whispered urgently, "_please, I need to talk to you."_

Hermione studied him for a moment, her furrowed brow prominent. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes unmoving and dark.

"_About?"_

George let out a frustrated sigh and took a step closer to her, causing her to take a step back. George's chest seemed to be caving in from the pressure.

"_About?" _she asked again with more emphasis.

"_Hermione, please, it'll just take a sec, I promise-_

He was cut off my Ginny's stir and grumbles. Both he and Hermione looked quickly towards her bed to ensure that she was still asleep. Her rhythmic breathing started up again, and Hermione slowly and quietly pushed him out of the room, and shuffled herself out behind him, closing the door quietly.

She turned around to face him, and opened her mouth to say something, but George placed a finger up to his lips and whispered a soft _shhh. _He held out his hand to her and beckoned her forward. He felt odd, standing in the hallway of his parent's house at midnight, trying to persuade Hermione Granger to apparate to a place unknown to her. He couldn't understand why she was being so stubborn-he usually had the opposite effect on women.

Hermione hesitantly extended her hand out, and gingerly placed it on top of his. George let out a shaky breath, and laced his fingers with hers. With a _crack, _he apparated them out of the hallway.

Hermione looked around, trying to figure out where she was. There was a small, quaint cottage a ways in front of her made of what looked like shells, and surrounded by rock formations and sand. She could hear the sound of crashing waves and wind, and salt was so prominent in the air that she could taste it. Turning around, she saw that she was on a shoreline, with the tide about three feet from her toes.

George was standing to her right, looking down at her. She noticed that they were still holding hands, and wondered what to do. She wanted to release it and walk away from him, almost as much as she wanted to hold on tighter. It felt nice holding his hand, so soft and firm.

To her dismay, he let go of her hand gently, and turned her around to face him.

George let out a quick sigh. "We need to talk."

Hermione frowned and looked around her again. "Where are we, exactly?"

"Shell Cottage. It's sort of a safe house for some of the Order. But it was my aunt's."

"It's forlorn," said Hermione, "but beautiful. Why did you bring me here?"

George sat down in the sand and looked out at the rolling water, illuminated by the moon. She could see the light from the waves dancing across his face, and the effect was titillating.

She sat down next to George, sinking her feet into the sand and staring ahead at the ocean. It had been years since she had visited a beach; she had almost forgotten what it was like. The salt air was refreshing and calming, relaxing her nerves a bit.

"Hermione, I need you to tell me you aren't interested. Tell me that this is nothing, and that you don't want to see me again."

Hermione was stunned into silence for a moment, feeling as though the blood was draining from her body. She couldn't seem to open her mouth, let alone speak. _What? _

Seeing the shocked look upon her face, George continued. "I'm not blind. I'm actually going out of mind with the uncertainty circling around you- the air I'm breathing is so thickened that I can't focus. So please, I need this to stop."

Hermione's chest felt tight with grief. She could feel tears begin to well up in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them back, not wanting him to see. _I've had enough sorrow for a lifetime; I'm not taking anymore. _She told herself firmly.

"You brought me here to tell me that you were playing me?" she accused, her brow furrowed. She ran her hands through her hair, anger now coursing through her, replacing the hurt. "You think that I'm as disposable as any other witch, who plays into your hands and falls for your quick wit and charm? I'm so sick of this-this hurt that's decided to plague me, and the rest of the world. You need _me _to tell you I don't want you?! You need to be the saint, the bigger one in this scenario? Find someone else to put this on. I'm not playing."

She quickly stood up, ignoring the frown that was present on George's face, his eyes darting back and forth between hers. She walked as quickly as she could away from him, not wanting to look at him. How could she have been so naïve, so completely and utterly stupid? It was George Weasley-as if he would be serious about a strict, rule-loving girl with bushy brown hair and whose best friend was Ron. He probably had a good laugh about her with Fred, joking about how he lured her into a heated kiss to see if he could. She was positively livid.

"No, Hermione, wait!" yelled George after her, jumping up and jogging after her.

Grabbing her wrist, he spun her around to face him.

"Get off," she said, yanking her wrist out of his grasp.

"No, Hermione, listen to me, you're taking this completely the wrong-"

"Oh, I've gotten the wrong impression, have I? Do the rest of the girls you kiss and leave take this better than I am? I'd sure hate to see what kind you usually go after." She began to stalk off again, feeling even worse about herself and the fact that she let her guard down.

"Hermione, no-" George grabbed her wrist again, this time causing Hermione to whip her wand out of her pocket.

"Stop." It was a command. "Don't."

George immediately let go and brought his hands up behind his head, looking at her. "Going to hex me?" he asked, amused.

"Try me," she said with as much malice as she could.

George rolled his eyes. "Get a grip, Hermione. I did _not _play you. If anything, this little situation should definitely be the other way around."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, still frowning and keeping her wand aloft.

"You wouldn't even look at me tonight-and I can't figure out what I could have done wrong. I'm asking you to walk away from this so that I can stop thinking about you! You haven't a clue how much I can't."

He had put his arms down by his side, and looked at her with a serious expression as though trying to make himself seem more honest. Hermione's hand faltered a bit, and she lowered her wand.

It was odd, as what he was saying clearly resembled her own feelings about him.

"Oh, I suppose that you were simply too busy thinking about me to see me again," she said, still not convinced.

"Blimey, I didn't know what to do," he said exasperatedly, clearly more relaxed now that her wand was lowered. "Should I have shown up for breakfast in front of the whole family and asked you on a date?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked away from him, shaking her head. The ocean wind was whipping around them, blowing her hair across her face.

"I avoided you because you avoided me-don't get in a huff just because I wasn't jumping all over you like a prat. You kissed me and I didn't see you for three days, and you say that _you _couldn't stop thinking about _me?"_ She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'd like to leave." She stretched out her hand towards him. She didn't think she could bear this conversation another minute.

George looked at her thoughtfully. He took a step closer to her and asked softly, "Would you _like_ to tell me that you never want to see me again?"

"I-what?" she asked, caught off guard. "No-it's the middle of the night and we have a train to catch-"

"Or," he interjected, "Would you like to tell me that you would like to see me again, perhaps next Friday evening?"

He had one eyebrow raised, and Hermione heart began to beat a little faster.

"I only want you to cast me aside if it will make you happy." He said. "I'd rather fancy having you next to me, if you'll have me." He let out a smirk that made his eyes seem somehow more devious.

"And why should I trust you?" she asked him, her defenses lowering.

He lightly lifter her chin so that she was looking him in the face, his expression light. "I showed up at twelve o'clock in the morning and apparated you to a beach, so I'm not sure what else I can do at the moment to show you how sincere I am. I suppose you'll just have to take a leap of faith at this one." He grinned outright, as though finding it funny that he couldn't find a better reason.

Hermione couldn't help it, she laughed. "And are you sure you don't _want _me to tell you that I'm not interested?" she asked questioningly.

George stared at her for a moment before saying carefully, "I don't want to be hurt."

She frowned at him again, a bit surprised to hear him say this. He was afraid that _she _might hurt him? It seemed ludicrous.

"What?" she asked incredulously. "Obviously I'm not going to-"

George put a finger up to her mouth and stopped her. "Women never make it obvious." He smiled, reaching out his hand for her to hold. Hermione took it hesitantly, lacing her fingers with his, feeling her spirits lift.

George leaned over to Hermione, "I promise not to stop thinking about you though." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek that seemed to burn where it landed. Hermione flushed pink and looked down at the sand, her body tingling from her head to her toes. With another _crack, _they had disapparated from Shell Cottage.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione awoke the next morning groggy and a little faint from the lack of sleep. Upon returning to the Burrow last night, she felt so elated and warm that it was nearly impossible for her to fall asleep. Her head was swimming with thoughts of Shell Cottage and George's unbelievable knack for charm and sincerity. It was almost unsettling how quickly her anger evaded her as soon as he opened his mouth. She had tried to play it tough and straight to the point, but she was so swept off her feet that it was nearly impossible. She kept thinking of his hands in hers and his lips on her face and his ridiculous way of saying perfect things at the perfect time. It was overwhelming.

Mrs. Weasley was bursting about the house blasting open every door she came across screaming for them all to get up this instant or she would make sure they all showed up at Hogwarts with warts across their rear ends. Hermione of course, had had all of her things packed last night, as had Ginny, so the two of them rolled out of bed and began to dress. She searched through her trunk for her khakis and her blue and black striped pullover, when her hand brushed a small, folded up piece of muggle paper in the corner of the trunk. Confused, she pulled it out of the suitcase and unfolded it. Written in black ink pen was a letter from her mother, with _Dearest Hermione _written largely at the top.

_ Dearest Hermione, _

_ I bet you're surprised reading this little note that I slipped into your case just as you were about to leave! I just really wanted you to have a little something special from your mum to keep close with you as you enter your sixth year. I know that this past summer has been difficult for you, and I know that you haven't been too keen on sharing everything with me-and that's okay. I worry so, so much, as does your father. You are so brave, bright, and beautiful, but I am afraid for you, and for what lies ahead for all of us. Where there is bravery, there will be someone to test your fears. And where there is brightness there will be someone to try and snuff out the light. And where there is beauty, there will be someone to try and tear it down, and make it into poisonous treachery that mimics the rest of the world. I ask only that you never let the world turn you cold, and that you remain as strong and true as you have always been. Please, please be safe. Please stand your guard, and keep your friends as close as you possibly can. (And Ron…perhaps a little closer than that). I await your letter of arrival and safety._

_ Love, Mum_

_ P.S. In the inner front pocket of your trunk, you will find a gold hairpin, adorned with blossoming red lilies. Just like your school colors, right? It is beautiful and bright, just like you. Keep it close, and think of your "mugger" family. It was mine when I was younger._

Hermione lowered the letter, sadness beginning to creep up on her former feeling of giddiness_. _Her parents had been positively shaken with fear and unease at the thought of her returning to Hogwarts this year, wanting to keep her close to them. They knew things were changing, in both worlds. They has been slyly questioning her about the many deaths in the papers, wanting to know if magic had been involved, and if it had any thing to do with "that Voldemort man". Throughout her years of being a witch, she had confided a bit of information about wizarding history with them, including Voldemort, but this was something she had begun to regret as soon as she returned home over the past summer. They didn't want her to return out of fear of the danger surrounding everyone, but how could she not? Thoughts of Harry and Ron filled her head. She couldn't leave them.

Hermione looked down at the letter once again, at the words, "And Ron…perhaps a little closer to that". She had rolled her eyes at that one. In addition to spitting out random gasps of "murders" and "peril", her mother had been incredibly interested in Hermione's love life. Ron, in particular. Hermione forcefully insisted that there was nothing except friendship between her and anyone, but her mum would shake her head and smile, as if she could recognize all of Hermione's feelings even if she couldn't herself.

Ron infuriated her. He was awfully tactless, at times pig-headed, devilishly immature and most of all- heartless. Which was ultimately why Hermione couldn't understand her bubble of feelings for him. At times she thought about what it would be like to be with him romantically and she didn't immediately cast it aside as she used to. At times, she entertained the thought. But it was nothing compared to the fire that burned through her chest whenever she thought of George. He was so full of wit and charm, and such sweet words.

"Hermione?" asked Ginny loudly, snapping her fingers in front of Hermione's face.

"What? Oh, er-sorry Ginny. Guess I'm not entirely awake yet." Hermione replied, embarrassed.

Ginny smiled groggily, letting out a yawn. "I think the only one awake is Mum. God, you can hear her from outside, screaming at Ron to corner the chickens."

Hermione laughed.

"What you got there?" Ginny asked beckoning to the letter in Hermione's hands.

"A letter from my mum. She slipped it in my trunk before I left."

Hermione carefully folded the letter and slid it back into the corner of her trunk.

"Oh, thoughtful," said Ginny casually, "Is there anything in there about you running off in the middle of the night with my older brother?"

Hermione, who was bent down under the bed to pick up a stray quill, shot up so quickly that the back of her head collided with the bed frame, causing her to swear aloud. Eyes watering, she stumbled trying to stand, her skull splitting with pain. _WHAT? _

Ginny chuckled, "Geez, are you okay?" She was laughing. "I tried to bring it up casually in the hopes that I could catch you off guard, you know, so that you'd admit to it without me having to badger you."

Hermione immediately felt like throwing up. _She knows? HOW?_

Still rubbing the back of her head, she tried to keep a steady voice.

"Ginny," she said, swallowing, "I don't…I mean, you can't-"

"Oh save it Hermione," she said, rolling her eyes, "I'm not going to tell anybody, I'm going to pretend like I don't know around others, and I'm not going to say anything to George. Although, I may judge you a little based on your taste in men. Viktor Krum I understand, but then Ron and now George? I suppose George is a _little _better than Ron but not by much-"

Hermione leaned over the bed and grabbed Ginny by her shoulders.

"You mustn't!" she whispered loudly, trying to look as deep into Ginny's eyes as she could to display her sincerity. "It was nothing!"

Ginny furrowed her brow, looking extremely skeptical. "You can't possibly think that you could apparate right outside my bedroom door and expect me not to hear it. I awoke and saw that you were gone, so I stayed up waiting until you got back. I saw you apparate on the outside lawn with him, and got a little grossed out seeing your snogging session that lasted about thirty minutes. So then I went back to bed."

Hermione was definitely going to throw up. Groaning, she sunk down onto the bed and curled up in a ball around her trunk, hiding her face.

Ginny sat down next to her and gingerly patted her head. "I won't tell."

"It's worse that you just know," she mumbled into the blankets, "that you _saw."_

She could feel Ginny shrug next to her. "I've seen them snog girls before, I just don't particularly enjoy it. Besides, I think of you as a best friend. If you like him, then you shouldn't be ashamed that someone knows. Especially a trusted confidant, such as myself."

Hermione had never felt so embarrassed in her life. Ginny, George's sister, knew that they had left together. She saw them…outside. It was too much. She felt like her blissful bubble had been popped and replaced with thick fog and uncertainty. Also, vomit.

"Where did you go?" asked Ginny.

Hermione lifted her face out of the covers and sat up next to her, laying her head on her shoulder. "A beach."

"Romantic," said Ginny. "I look forward to hearing about it."

Hermione was about to tell Ginny that she was never going to speak about her "thing" with George _ever, _but Mrs. Weasleys ear-splitting shouts from the doorway interrupted her.

"My goodness we are going to be late! Quickly now, trunks, belongings, wands, let's move! Everyone else is ready to go!"

Without a word, Hermione and Ginny quickly grabbed their trunks and did a last minute scan of the room for forgotten possessions.

"Oh, my Ancient Runes book is under the bed as well," said Hermione quickly. "You go on Ginny, I'm coming in just a moment."

As Ginny left the room, Hermione opened the front pocket on her case and reached in to find the hairpin her mother mentioned in the letter. She pulled out a black, satin cloth that was thick, and wrapped tightly around an unidentifiable object. Removing the covering, Hermione let out a soft "ohh". It was a magnificently carved, ornate hairpin that covered her entire palm. Golden with red lilies, Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of the flowers George had given her, and felt a pang of sadness that she was off to Hogwarts and he was not. She felt odd knowing that this gift from her mother was so tightly connected to Hermione on a different emotional level. _Oh, mum._

"Hermione!" screamed several people from downstairs.

Hermione quickly wrapped up the pin, placed it back in her trunk, and bounded down the steps to begin her journey back to Hogwarts.


End file.
